Men's houses had no doors? No firm-set rock
Marked field from field by niggard masters held.
The very oaks ran honey; the mild flock
Brought home its swelling udders, uncompelled.
Nor wrath nor war did that blest kingdom know;
No craft was taught in old Saturnian time,
By which the frowning smith, with blow on blow,
Could forge the furious sword and so much crime.
Now Jove is king! Now have we carnage foul,
And wreckful seas, and countless ways to die.
Nay! spare me, Father Jove, for on my soul
Nor perjury, nor words blaspheming lie.
If longer life I ask of Fate in vain,
O'er my frail dust this superscription be:--
_"Here Death's dark hand_ TIBULLUS _doth detain,
Messala's follower over land and sea!"_
Then, since my soul to love did always yield,
Let Venus guide it the immortal way,
Where dance and song fill all th' Elysian field,
And music that will never die away.
There many a song-bird with his fellow sails,
And cheerly carols on the cloudless air;
Each grove breathes incense; all the happy vales
O'er-run with roses, numberless and fair.
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